Rouge
by wjobsessed
Summary: P/O undercover fic written in the style of JJ Abram's 'Alias.' Olivia can't sleep and goes to Peter. Jones' message is revealed.Takes place after 'What Lies Below' but before 'Jacksonville.' FINAL CHAPTER IS UP!
1. Chapter 1

**Since 'Fringe' started I have wanted to write a P/O undercover fic in the style of the former JJ Abrams TV spy show 'Alias.'**

**'Alias' ran for 5 seasons and starred a sexy CIA agent, Sydney Bristow, and her boss/'handler', Michael Vaughn. They both wore dark knit hats and there are some vague similarities to our Peter & Liv. Know why? Orci and Kurtzman were executive producers for Seasons 2 and 3 of 'Alias,' and Jeff Pinkner was executive producer for Season 5 of 'Alias.' Also, Michael Giacchino was the composer for that show also!**

**One thing that made 'Alias' stand out as a show were some of the disguises Sydney Bristow had to wear, including various shades of red wigs that made her look 'hot' and totally different from her usual self. (Keep that in mind as you read.)**

**I own nothing to do with 'Fringe' or 'Alias.' This is not a crossover fic. All mistakes are mine.**

**This fic is dedicated to SamSpade, who should consider this a late birthday gift.**

Rouge-Chapter 1

For what felt like the hundredth time Peter Bishop turned to his left. He was running after Olivia Dunham, trying to tail her while she persued another perp in dark clothing down a deserted alley.

Suddenly, Olivia came to a dead halt and fell on top of the man, as Peter lost his footing and fell on top of her. She turned her beautiful head and gave him 'that look' of annoyance she saved just for him. At the same time a loud sound shattered the silence like a woodpecker's pecking.

"Where the heck is there a woodpecker around here?" Peter shouted at Olivia. She replied by giving him a confused look as her image faded into oblivion.

Peter sat bolt upright in his bed, sweat glistening on his forehead. The knocking was even louder now. He realised it was _not_ a woodpecker, but someone's hand knocking on the front door of his and Walter's house. Somewhat disoriented, Peter ran down the stairs and unlocked the front door clumsily, clad only in his boxers.

On the steps stood Olivia Dunham wearing her apologetic smile and one of her numerous dreary, dark pantsuits.

"Sorry for bothering you, Peter, but it's Broyles. Something big's up and he wants to see both of us at the Federal Building right away." She had been looking him in the face as she spoke but her eyes couldn't help drifting south before she finished. She dragged her eyes quickly back up to his face hoping that maybe he hadn't noticed.

"Wh-what about Walter?" was all Peter was able to get out in reply.

As if on cue, Junior Agent Astrid Farnsworth peeked out from behind Olivia.

"Hi, Peter," she said meekly. "Broyles sent me to stay with Walter," she explained, trying not to stare. "It's OK. You two'd better get a move on though."

Peter backed away from the door to let the ladies in, feeling slightly humiliated. Olivia entered the house first, followed quickly by Astrid. He ushered them into the living room to wait, as he closed the door.

As Peter ascended the stairs, Olivia shouted out, "Oh, and pack a small bag and your passport. Broyles said he's sending us someplace."

"Where?" Peter paused on the stairs, exasperated. He had never been a morning person.

Olivia gave her head a little shake. "Guess we'll find out soon." She flashed him one of her mini charming smiles.

"Fantastic," Peter snarked and rubbed his brow, still standing on the stair. "Walter!" he shouted down toward the first floor. "Wake up. We've got company!"

**Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

Peter Bishop drummed his fingers on the cherry vaneer of Special Agent Phillip Broyles' desk while he and Olivia Dunham waited for Broyles to make an appearance. He could see agents moving and heard the sound of telephones ringing faintly in the room beyond the big glass window.

Suddenly the door opened and Broyles practically sprinted into his office, his facial expression all business.

"Mr. Bishop, Dunham," he said abruptly as he sat in his chair across the desk from them.

"One of our Interpol agents in Paris just spotted David Robert Jones there a few hours ago with, what are suspected to be, French ZFT operatives. As you both know, we have been looking for Mr. Jones since he escaped Mass General Hospital months ago, and we're actually surprised he's surfaced again so quickly."

Broyles leaned toward them his hands clasped. "We believe Jones and ZFT are in negotiations with European and Iranian governments concerning the selling of chemical and other bio-weapons. Possibly with a successor of Conrad. You don't need me to tell you what could happen if these weapons get into that part of Asia. Suffice it so say there would be far-reaching ocnsequences."

"How do we fit into all this?" Peter asked a bit impatiently. Broyles ignored the younger Bishop's question and turned to address Olivia.

"Agent Dunham, we need you to go Paris and get close enough to Jones so that Interpol can get him into custody, and we can get our information."

Peter scoffed. "She's going to have to go _way_ undercover to meet with Jones. He-he knew her image well enough to sketch it, and **he kidnapped her!**" Peter shouted.

Broyles took one of his trademark calming breaths, as he expected this. "I appreciate your concern Mr. Bishop, but Dunham is the only agent in the Bureau who knows Jones's history, personality, and the Pattern well enough to get close to him. I have every confidence she can do this. If I had someone else qualified enough to send, believe me I would."

The silence in the room was deafening, until Peter broke it.

"And what's my role in this? You didn't just call her into this meeting."

Phillip Broyles rolled his eyes. It was hard to believe listening to Peter Bishop that he'd never stayed long in one spot. Tenacious was a word that came to mind at the moment. Broyles locked eyes with him.

"With your science background, knowledge of Jones and his Pattern-related activities, **and** your previous experience running cons, DHS and Interpol would like you to examine anything we find on David Robert Jones' person or that we find in France once he's in custody and we raid his place."

Peter Bishop locked eyes with Phillip Broyles trying to read him. For some reason he thought the man's words rung hollow, that there was more to it, but he wasn't sure.

"And you have an idea how 'Livia can find Jones with certainty and not waste time looking?"

Broyles looked back over at Olivia and heaved a bigger sigh. _Here it goes,_ he thought to himself.

"Agent Dunham, Jones apparently has a proclivity for fast and loose European female entertainers.

You will go to Paris as a new up and coming entertainer named 'Rouge' in the hope that Jones will be inspired to set up a private meeting with you."

By this point Peter Bishop's irises had turned steely blue. If looks could kill Broyles would have been on his office floor.

"And what if she isn't comfortable with this plan?" Peter snarled protectively.

"-I'll do it!" Olivia interrupted. "Anything to get Jones off the street and into custody, again."

Peter's head snapped to look at her. He knew by this point not to verbally challenge her in front of her boss. Peter worked hard to keep himself in check, his hands balling into fists.

"Bishop, you'll pose as her agent, so you'll be right there when everything goes down. And before you even ask, you'll be issued a gun for this op. When we're finished here I'll send you to Agent Phelps who will help you with your wardrobe, etcetera. Come back here when he's finished with you and I'll have your credentials, and info for your DHS and Interpol contacts in Paris."

Phillip Broyles stood up, signaling an end to the meeting. "And don't worry about your father, Bishop. Junior Agent Farnsworth and two other agents will be posted with him until you return.

I suggest the two of you get moving. Now, if you'll excuse me..." Without another word, Broyles walked to his door, opened it, and walked out.

Olivia stood up, lost in thought. Peter counted to five before he spoke.

"'Livia, you know how dangerous Jones is. What he's capable of. Do you **really** want to do this?"

His voice was soft and full of pleading as he stood.

She looked straight at him, her mouth a thin line. "No, but you'll be with me. Together we can do this, Peter." Peter wasn't sure what she was telling him with her eyes. He only knew what he wanted that look to mean. Together they walked out of Broyles' office to their meeting with the Boston Bureau's chief of disguises.


	3. Chapter 3

**My apologies. There was supposed to be an author's note before the last chapter that David Robert Jones is alive in this story. He never got sliced in half at Reiden Lake.**

**Thanks to all who are continuing to read this and give me feedback.**

**I own nothing, and all mistakes are mine.**

**The quick updates will probably keep coming _if you review._**

**Peter gets his makeover, and a special guest brings high-tech gagdets for their op.**

Rouge-Chapter 3

Peter shot her a sideways glance from the barber's chair, as Agent Brian Phelps finished piercing his second ear, injecting it with a silver skull stud. Olivia cringed as she heard the dull thud of the earring pushing through.

"Skulls do it for me, 'Livia?" he asked her trying to look serious.

She couldn't help but giggle. They were most definitely _not_ Peter Bishop. Neither was the dirty blonde hair cut so short on top it was spiking thanks to stiff hair gel. Phelps had been more than pleased that Peter had come to him unshaven, lecturing that it would add to the bad boy look.

But what really grabbed her attention were the two henna tattoos, one on each shoulder. They looked totally legitimate. And the drab tank top with jaggedly-cut arm holes displayed them proudly. Olivia didn't know what it was about the sight before her, but she couldn't stop staring at his shoulders. Peter was quick to catch on.

"Phelps says they'll last about a week. But I can get some real ones when they're gone, if you'd like."

His last words caught her totally off guard as he'd planned. "Uh..." Olivia put her hands up in a gesture. "If...you want tattoos you should get them." The words seemed surreal. She noted how the conversation had taken a very weird turn, and she wondered why she was so affected.

Agent Phelps stood back and smiled, knowingly. He had heard about this agent and her conman-turned-DHS consultant from others in the building. It was fun to see that the rumors were true. "They look great on Blade Underwood, I have to say."

He spun the barber's chair around and looked Peter in the eye. "Broyles says you two are flying out this morning. Peter, I have a small shopping list for you, so you'd better get going. Put it on the Bureau charge card. And I'm sure you haven't picked up your new passport yet so make sure to see Broyles as soon as you get back here. Any questions?" Phelps handed Peter a pre-printed paper.

"No, I'm good. Thank you Agent Phelps," Peter answered as he got up from the chair.

Olivia looked him over head to toe as he stood there, and the smile returned to her face. The black cargo pants with their rips and chains certainly completed the look. She laughed.

"Your turn next, Sweetheart."

Suddenly the door opened and Brandon, the quirky scientist from Massive Dynamic, was escorted in by a female agent, who told him she'd be back to escort him out, and left.

Brandon looked around him at the headquarters of the Boston Bureau's disguise department, his mouth hanging open. He was wearing his telltale white, full-length lab coat and Massive Dynamic ID badge. Pinned next to it was a temporary FBI pass.

"Hey, Brandon, what brings you to our neck of the woods?" Peter asked in greeting.

Brandon turned to the voice and stared up at the taller man dressed up in punk. The man looked familiar and he tried to place him. Peter, Olivia, and Phelps all laughed.

"It's me, Peter Bishop, from the Fringe Division."

The three watched as recognition crossed Brandon's face. "Oh, hi Peter Bishop." He looked him over. "Nice. Well, you _really_ don't look FBI now!" They all laughed.

"What brings you to the Bureau this morning, Brandon? You have something for us?" Olivia asked.

Brandon was still staring at the skull earrings when his mind snapped back to the task at hand.

"Yes. Miss Sharp sent me with the latest in communication technology for both of you." He reached into the pocket of his labcoat and pulled out some tiny white packets and held them up. "I'm going to insert these tiny speakers into your ears so you can hear each other, and you'll wear these tiny microphones on your persons. The clarity is digitally astounding, and only Massive Dynamic has the patent."

"Of course, " Agent Phelps said.

Peter Bishop watched them, wondering how much the agents in the building knew of the strange work relationship between Nina Sharp and Phillip Broyles.

"Peter, let me take you and Brandon back to Agent Kuhn so Brandon can do his work," Phelps commanded. Agent Dunham, wait here, please. I'll be right back." Phelps held the door open as Peter Bishop walked out with Brandon following behind. The three started down the narrow hallway. Brandon busily took in the Bureau scenery, trying to commit as many details to memory as possible.


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm back with another chapter for you. Thanks again to all who are reviewing and alerting(and favoriting) this.**

**As far as a timeline, I would put this after 'What Lies Below' but before 'Jacksonville.'**

**Remember, the whole premise of this fic is that it's written in the style of JJ Abram's former series, 'Alias.' The mood is more intense due to that style.**

**If you are not familiar with 'Alias' and its characters and their roles, you may want to do some research. It would add to what you get out of this fic.**

**I own neither 'Alias' nor 'Fringe.' Again, this is not a crossover fic. All mistatkes are mine.**

**Peter relfects on the ride to their operation.**

Rouge-chapter 4

Peter Bishop's brow was furrowed as he glanced over at a sleeping, red-haired Olivia Dunham in the seat next to him. One thing he had learned in his many years as a conman was to always trust his gut. And his gut was screaming at him. Peter had a very bad feeling about this particular assignment. He knew without a doubt that if Broyles or someone higher in the DHS had given the green light for him to kill David Robert Jones, he would do it in a heartbeat when they found him.

He sighed as he thought about Jones, trying to lower his rapidly rising blood pressure. Peter absoultely hated the man. The literal monster had orchestrated Olivia's kidnapping only a year ago, sending Peter into the biggest panic attack of his life. God only knew what Jones's monkey, Mitchell Loeb, really did to her under the guise of performing a cortexiphan-checking spinal tap.

He hated that Jones had sought her out during the orifice-sealing case, had sent her out on a literal treasure hunt to retrive a box full of telekinetic-testing toys. He hated that Jones had risked theirs and countless other lives, and had scared Olivia almost to death with his stupid 'light bomb.'

What really made Peter seethe with disgust was what Astrid had told him happened while he and Olivia were trying to calm down in the moments after she disarmed the bomb, namely that when Astrid told Jones that Olivia had been successful, Jones smiled and said aloud 'that's my girl.' The idea that Jones felt he had any kind of connection with Olivia made Peter's stomach churn. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a roll of TUMS, and popped two into his mouth.

The sudden realization that Peter knew he would give his life to protect Olivia from Jones was unnerving, but not surprising to him. He just couldn't believe it might come to that sooner than later. Her alias as a kind of loose French performer to call Jones out, was unacceptable to him. He had phoned Boyles from Logan International Airport and argued with him about it for 15 minutes, but the agent wouldn't budge. Jones' only weakness was apparently loose European performers, and so Broyles would give him one. Peter had every confidence Olivia could act the part and get the job done, he just didn't want to think about what the 'job' would entail. Images of Jones touching her or worse had been looping through Peter's brain for hours. So had the red hair. Brighter then auburn but a shade or two less than Ronald McDonald it gave her a different look. She looked 'hotter' for lack of a better word. It was a look he didn't want to share with anyone, especially not that bastard Jones.

Peter put his right hand on top of her cold left one on her armrest and squeezed gently. Surpringly, the gesture caused her no alarm. As if in response, Olivia turned in her seat and lay her head on his shoulder. Before he could stop himself, Peter placed his arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head, praying she wouldn't wake up and hit him. To his pleasant surprise she didn't move and her breathing evened out.

All they had to do was get through this. With Jones finally behind bars again Olivia would surely calm down. Maybe they'd have a shot at a normal relationship. Peter made a mental note to bring that up on the plane ride home. With Olivia curled up against him, her soft breaths on his chest, Peter closed his eyes and let the fatigue overtake him.

**Please review if you want more!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter. So here's another for you. :)**

**Can't find an accent aigu on my keyboard-sorry. In this chapter are some French phrases. The English translations are at the end.**

**I own nothing-but you already knew that. Remember, if you review, there will probably be quicker updates.**

**Peter and Olivia react to each other in full disguise, before her first performance.**

Rouge-Chapter 5

Peter held the door open for her as they left the small cafe and walked down the short set of stairs onto the sidewalk of the Champs Elysees, the most popular boulevard in the city of Paris. The casual meeting with their contacts had gone well, and they had an hour to kill before getting ready to leave for her first performance.

Their French Interpol liason was pretty certain Jones would not be there tonight, but it was assumed that when he caught wind of a sexy new female performer in town, that he would show up quickly.

Peter being Peter didn't put much faith in Agent Michaud's assumption. Jones was slimier than a snake and unpredictable. They had to be ready for anything.

The sun was sinking quickly over a warm Paris evening. There were alot of people out and about on both sides of the wide boulevard, and numerous taxis drove past as they walked towards their hotel.

They came upon a beautiful old fountain in an island in the middle, and stopped to watch as numerous children frolicked in the water to beat the heat, shouting and laughing. For a moment they both forgot where they were and why. Instinctively, Peter reached for Olivia's hand, intertwining his fingers in hers, and held onto it. To his surprise she did not pull away nor make a sound. Together they resumed their long walk, each lost in their own thoughts.

At one point Peter sneaked a peek over at her, taking in her attire. It didn't seem real seeing her in a bright green low-cut t-shirt and black mini-skirt. He had to admit, though, that the sparkly black sandals looked good on her. Really good. And that hair. There was just something about Olivia and that shade.

All of a sudden a teen-aged girl appeared next to them on a skateboard.

"J'aime vos cheveux!" she shouted at Olivia as she rode by.

"J'aime ses cheveux egalement!" Peter yelled back to the departing teen.

Olivia turned her head and gave him a look, her eyebrows raised. "Is there any language you_ don't _know, Peter?" she asked, totally in awe of him.

Peter laughed. "I told you before. Get to know me and you'll find out." His smile was huge and made his punked-out face look sinister. "And the name's _Blade_, remember? We should be practising our French, _Rouge_."

Olivia laughed in reply. The whole thing was just so weird.

"Ainsi, c'est vrai?" Olivia asked him softly, their hands still joined, swinging slightly as they walked,

"What?" He caught himself, shaking his head. "Ce qui?"

"You love my hair, too?" she asked him, tiring of the work of keeping up a conversation in French.

His laughter was loud causing heads on the sidewalk to turn. "Maybe I do," he replied, a faint pink enveloping his face.

Olivia couldn't help but smile seeing Peter's reflection in the dressing room's huge mirror.

She laughed a little making her head move as she attempted to apply a Lady Gaga-like monstrously large fake eyelash to her own. She caught it as it slipped and she began the process again, successful on the second try. "Got it."

When she turned to face him, her breath caught in her throat. Peter's face was well-illuminated by the dressing room's multiple mirror bulbs and he looked...dangerous. He was dressed in black from toe to head and his hair looked even blonder than she remembered it in Agent Phelp's lab. With the brown-colored contacts he almost looked unrecognizable. She found herself riveted to her spot.

Peter's eyes locked with hers and then journeyed south taking all of her in. He had no idea her disguise would look that good. The bright red wig and heavy make-up against her pale skin really made her eyes stand out. And with the blue contacts she really did look like a different person. The sequined bustier hugged curves her tightly, and Peter's eyes caught what he thought was a tiny patch of pale pink nipple. He looked away for a second, taking a deep breath and trying to relax himself and the pressure in his groin. He forced himself to look back at her, not wanting her to think he was offended by what he saw before him. His traitorous eyes jumped back down, taking in the bare flesh of her abdomen and the way the black sequined boy-cut shorts hugged her hips. Out of need he stared down at the thigh-high patent leather boots with the stiletto heels and blinked. Those by themselves would have made him sweat. The whole package together made his breathing somewhat erratic and he found the sudden need to cough, his hand to his face.

Olivia studied him. "You OK?"

Peter simply nodded, struggling to get back in control. He finally looked back up at her and forced a half-smile, trying to clear his head. "I think we need to get out there."

**Translations: J'aime vos cheveux- I love your hair**

** J'aime ses cheveux egalement- I love her hair too**

** Ainsi, c'est vrais? So, is it true?**

** Ce qui? What?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Back with another chapter. Sorry it took a little longer to update. Your reviews to this chapter may make the next one post sooner.**

**Thanks to those who continue to follow this, and review and favorite it. You make my day!**

**EnsignRo-thanks for your advice regarding the accent. I'm working in OpenOffice. Maybe I should switch to Word...**

**I own nothing. There's a little French in this chapter. I've put the English translation at the bottom.**

**Have you heard about the timely 'Alias'-related Fringe spoiler? If you're interested, PM me and I'll direct you.**

**Peter and Olivia unwind after the first night of their 'op.'**

Rouge-Chapter 6

Olivia watched as Peter and Interpol Agent Michaud, now known as Guy Desmond, manager of the nightclub called Pandora's Box, discussed the stage details, exits, and second floor party rooms in French, as smoothly as she would have in English. She was still in wonder of the how and why Peter Bishop seemed to be fluent in so many languages. French, Cantonese, Farsi, German, and now French added to the list. Standing there listening to him from the side of the stage she marveled that his French accent was spot-on. The combination of the flawless French coming out of his mouth and the way he looked all punked-out made her knees weak and her heart beat a little faster.

As if sensing her, Peter Bishop stopped talking and looked over at her. His brown eyes were full of something she couldn't make out. He called her to him in French, asking Guy to repeat the party room rules. For 500 US dollars, or 2418 francs, a patron could request a private 10 minute 'party' in one of the upstairs rooms. Whether Olivia accepted the business deal or not was up to her. Whenever the performer accepted, the house took half. What transpired in that 10 minutes was up to her. Guy raised his volume at this point, repeating that the club strictly forbid any actual sexual intercourse, as Pandora's Box was in very good standing with the police and other authorities. Olivia wondered just what kind of crazy international agents Interpol worked with that they had to lecture on that.

Guy finished his lecture and looked at Olivia. She shook her head in understanding. And then it hit her. _This is how it will play out,_ she thought to herself. Sometime in the next few nights, hoepfully sooner than later, Jones would watch her show and then request a 10 minute party, she was sure of it. The thought made her stiffen and more determined than ever to make his arrest a reality.

"Rouge? Rouge! Comprends-tu?" Peter's words pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Oui, Blade. Je le comprends."

"D'accord." Peter walked up to her until he was well within her personal space. He seemed agitated, his nostrils flaring a bit. Olivia caught a whiff of coffee and his cologne. "Ma cherie, fasse attention ce soir," he told her in a voice tinged with uneasiness. Olivia didn't miss the intense look in his eyes as he stepped away from her, and neither did Michel Michaud. He wondered exactly who he was working with here. Were they a husband and wife team? The last he had heard the FBI frowned upon that. He made a mental note to ask Phillip Broyles the next time they spoke.

* * *

The clock behind the bar read 01:35. Olivia and Peter sat next to each other on bright red leather bar stools in their street clothes nursing a double scotch. Jones had not shown, as Guy had predicted.

A few minutes earlier he had debriefed them on the evening, singing Olivia's praises on her three number set. Peter had made it through somehow, standing at the front right in the audience, trying to look unaffected, but not succeeding. _She was good,_ kept repeating in his mind. He was still trying to figure out how she knew the second song. Entirely in French it was a song he'd never heard before. He had a feeling someone at the Bureau had taught it to her earlier that morning. _What a day,_ he thought to himself as the jet lag seeped into his body. Peter looked over at Olivia and they shared a small, tired smile.

* * *

Peter lay in his hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. His body exhausted but his brain too wired to sleep. He worried about the following night, when Jones would likely show. Could they really pull it off? Could he keep Olivia safe? He ran through the game plan again when he heard his door open. Shooting a look toward it he saw Olivia Dunham making her way to him in the near dark, clad only in a tank top and shorts, her natural hair disheveled around her face. She looked unsure.

"'Livia? You OK?" he asked sitting up, shirtless.

"I-I couldn't sleep. Thinking too much. I figured you'd be up too, or did I wake you?" She looked ready to bolt.

"You were right. I was awake. C'mere." With permission granted she got into his bed.

A minute passed and then she spoke. "I think we're doing OK, but I just wish this was over already, and Jones was in custody," she said awkwardly, playing with her hands.

"Hey," Peter said softly, pushing her face up so she was forced to look at him. "We're doing great, and soon, maybe tomorrow we'll catch him, and then we'll go home."

Olivia shook her head unable to turn away from him with his fingers still on her chin. Peter leaned in and gave her a chaste kiss, lingering a bit. When they pulled apart she gave him the best smile she could under the circumstances.

"Sleep," was all he said. His command for her to stay with him was simply understood. She moved down onto the pillow to his right and pulled the covers up. Without thinking his arms pulled her up against him, her back to his front, holdering her in an embrace. In another place and time Peter was pretty sure this would have led to more. But this was now, and they were dead tired. His face was against her hair and he got lost in the lovely scent. "Night, 'Livia," Peter whispered to her, but she was already out.

**Comprends-tu? Do you understand?**

**Oui. Je le comprends. Yes, I understand it.**

**D'accord. OK.**

**Ma cherie, fasse attention ce soir. My dear, be careful tonight.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Me posting on the weekend? Wow. Guess I was moved by all your reviews! :) Thanks for all of them and favoriting/alerting this.**

**Just a reminder for people who are reading this fic through quickly. This is not quite my usual P/O style. This is written in the style of JJ Abrams' old show 'Alias,'**

**which means this is more dramatic and intense(and more sexy!) **

**I'm still writing this in OpenOffice, so no accent aigu, sorry. There's some French in here. The translations appear at the end.**

**I own nothing.**

**Peter and Olivia seek comfort in each other before Night #2 of their 'op.'**

Rouge-Chapter 7

Peter opened his eyes seeing only brightness, feeling something soft and ticklish on his face. He pulled his head back a few inches and reality clicked into place. They were in the same position they'd been in when they passed out the night before. His arms loosely around her, her warm body close. He wished they could stay like this forever, away from the world and its dangers and disappointments. One body, in a sense, but not the only way he'd like it. The way he dreampt of, with her.

Then his brain flicked the switch and he knew what had to happen. They had to get through tonight. Maybe even the night after that. They had to finish what they'd started, and get Jones into custody. Then back on home soil, after some decent rest both mentally and physically... _Maybe then. _Peter exhaled loudly and meticulously extricated himself from their joined position. He headed for their shared bathroom and a long, cold shower.

* * *

After a large, delicious dejeuner in their room, Peter and Olivia doned their disguises and walked out into another warm Paris afternoon. The plan was to forget for a time about the stressful night ahead of them. First they walked the steps of the Eiffel Tour and lingered at the top enjoying the view. It was hard to believe evil lurked in the corners while standing there looking into the vastness of the old city.

They took the Metro to the Louvre and blended in with the other tourists on the guided tour. Both of them were shocked by the smallness of the Mona Lisa. The subject's eyes were indeed penetrating for such a small painting.

Standing on one of the streets of the Latin Quarter they shared a chocolate Croque Monsieur and enjoyed watching the people walk by. In a bold move Peter leaned in and gave her a quick kiss as she chewed.

"P-Blade!" Olivia exclaimed in a breathy gasp watching the change in his expression. Her body tightened and her heart sped up.

"Mmm. Chocolatey." Peter again breeched the distance separating them and pulled her up to him for a kiss. It was gentle at first. His tongue pushed at the space between her lips and she allowed him in. They explored each other thoroughly there as the foot traffic went by, sandwiches sagging in their other hands, forgotten. When the need for air exceeded all else, they pulled back from each other, their eyes locked. A loud ambulance horn pulled them out of their trance-like state and brought them back to the present. Peter pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket and checked the time. "I guess we should think about getting back and resting up a bit," he said, reluctant to move from his spot. He took another bite of his sandwich and looked at Olivia, wondering if she was thinking the same thing he was.

"We probably should," she replied, shaking her head. She returned to her sandwich as well, and pointed them in the direction of the Metro.

* * *

She stood quietly leaning over the balcony staring out at the boulevard, her hands on the railing. Olivia couldn't help but wonder what a normal vacation would feel like with Peter, just the two of them away from Boston, away from the Bureau. She envied the people below her who seemed to be going about their business unburdoned.

Peter noticed she hadn't moved from her position at the balcony for several minutes and went to check on her, concernedly. He called to Olivia as he got closer, so as not to scare her. He had learned a while ago in Pennsylvania that sneaking up on a Fed was not a good thing to do.

"Hey," he called to her as he came up behind her. "You OK, 'Livia?" he asked softly as he moved to stand very close to her on her right, his hands on the railing.

"Aren't you jealous of them, Peter? They go about their business not having to worry about sick, weird predators, the Pattern, Jones, who's selling bioweapons to whom..."

Peter was quiet for a beat. "Yeah I am. But you and I, we're good at what we do. And we're going to get Jones-maybe in just a few hours. Then we'll get debriefed and go home. And who knows? Maybe Broyles will give us a day or two off..." She gave him her trademark smirk, the same one she gave him on the bench in the park in Boston Common.

"He might. You don't know yet," Peter kept going, enjoying her mouth turning up at the corners.

"C'mere." Peter took her right hand and motioned for her to turn around until they were standing facing each other. "We're a good team. You know we can get this job done." They stood there stock still, looking at each other. Suddenly Olivia raised up on her toes, reached around his neck with both arms and kissed him.

It took only a second for Peter to get over the shock that she had made the first move. When he did he kissed her back hard, invading her mouth with his tongue and they both moaned. The next thing Peter knew her legs were locked around him and he was carrying her to their bed. Unceremoniously he plopped her down and clmibed on top, latching back onto her mouth. Somewhere in his mind he knew they probably shouldn't be doing this now but he shoved the thought away, returning to memorizing the feel of her beneath him, the taste and smell of her everywhere.

Peter pulled his mouth away, breathless. "'Livia," was all he could manage, as he struggled to remove her shirt. As soon as it was over her head and carelessly thrown he latched back onto her skin, kissing down from her jawline and heading south. He felt her pulling up his shirt and he repositioned himself so she could work it over his shoulders. The little sounds coming out of her mouth encouraged him almost to the point of distraction. He licked and kissed his way towards one of her collarbones, noticing that his handiwork a few inches higher would probably leave a mark.

As his hands snaked their way around her back to her bra strap, he felt her fingers working on the button of his ripped cargo pants. The shrill and sudden sound of a cell phone ripped through the air. They both froze as it rang, knowing it was important, although neither wanted to acknowledge it.

Finally Olivia removed her hand from his pants and shoved it into her own, extracting the offending object from her pocket and moving it to her ear. "Dunham," she stated breathlessly, in a tone of annoyance.

Peter pulled his arms free and sat back on the bed, shirtless, watching her. He knew from the look on her face it was Michaud, and that there was some kind of news.

"D'accord. Nous vous verrons la en dix minutes. Au revoir."

* * *

Interpol Agent Michel Michaud had his coffee to his lips as he spotted the American agents heading toward them. He gestured to his French FBI liason, Marc Marshall, who closed his newspaper. Peter and Olivia nodded to both of them and sat down. Agent Michaud pointed towards his coffee, Olivia and Peter shook their heads 'no' in reply.

Agent Marshall cleared his throat and spoke softlly in fluent French. Satellite chatter and a French agent deeply undercover confirmed earlier in the day that David Robert Jones was in Paris, supposedly to meet a business contact named Landon. The where and when were unknown, but someone had mentioned a new nightclub performer, and it was strongly believed he was going to show up at Pandora's Box that night.

When Marshall had finished, Agent Michaud reminded them of the importance of arresting Jones and either preventing the meeting or the turn-over of the bioweapon, or both. Peter and Olivia nodded in understanding. They would get whatever they needed to assist them in their mission. Both Michaud and Marshall thought it was imperative that Olivia somehow coax Jones into one of the upstairs party rooms. Olivia agreed. They all reviewed their various roles for the night and the meeting ended.

Peter and Olivia walked hand-in-hand down the Champs Elysees as they had the previous evening. The sun had set and the city lights had come on giving everything a different appearance. They were quieter than usual, both of them lost in thought, on the same subject. Olivia knew what would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted. Was she ready for the fallout from it? She thought so. She knew her feelings for Peter Bishop ran deep-deeper than she could pinpoint.

He knew what would have happened if they hadn't been interrupted. What would have happened afterwards? Would he have told her he loved her? Maybe even before? Or during? Her words interrupted his private debate.

"Je suis desole." Peter knew immediately what she was talking about. He turned to look at her. She turned to look at him, giving him a sad smile.

"Ne soyez pas desole." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Notre moment viendra."

**D'accord. Nous vous verrons la en dix minutes. OK. We'll see you there in 10 minutes. Bye.**

**Je suis desole. I am sorry.**

**Ne soyez pas desole. Don't be sorry.**

**Notre moment viendra. Our time will come.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Only a few chapters left! Thanks to those who've let me know they're enjoying this.**

**I own nothing. No accent aigu in this chapter either. Sorry.**

**Song lyrics are to "These Boots Are For Walking" by Nancy Sinatra.(An oldie but a goodie.)**

**French translation is below.**

**Olivia puts on a show. Peter and Jones react.**

Rouge-Chapter 8

Peter Bishop rapped loudly three times on the dressing room door and leaned against it, waiting for her acknowledgement and invitation.

Olivia Dunham gently touched the applicator to her lips, applying the brightly-colored lip gloss, when she heard their signal on the dressing room door. She pulled the applicator a few inches away from her top lip and shouted "Entrez-nous," then returned her concentration to the applicator.

He opened the door and looked at her reflection in the dressing room mirror, giving her a half-smile. Closing the door behind himself he walked a few steps closer.

"I knew it was you. You used our signal," she said, seemingly to read the question in his mind.

Hurriedly she applied a thick layer of gloss to her lower lip and shoved the applicator back into its housing.

"Someone else could have knocked three times you know," Peter said, somewhat annoyed.

Olivia pushed the director's-style chair back, rose, and walked to him, smiling. "Yes, but I know that you, and Agents Michaud and Marshall have my back."

Peter's brain tuned out after her first word. He had simply assumed she would wear the same outfit as the previous night. But she stood before him in a full set of lacy black lingerie complete with garder belts, little panties, and fingerless black lace gloves. Lower on her hips those same enticing, black patent leather boots with the stiletto heels reflected the lights from the ceiling. All he could do was swallow hard.

She watched his eyes change as he looked her over and suddenly she felt ashamed, for promising Agent Phelps she would wear this outfit for one of her performances. She knew she looked good in it, quite good, if Peter's reaction was any indicator. She just wished she could wear it for him alone. Somewhere else.

Out of necessity Peter shook his mind free of the sight before him, willing his heart to calm down as well as his body. For the first time on this assignment he was glad he was wearing the long black leather duster. Right now it was hiding his body's reaction to her costume, and he offered a silent prayer of thanks. Although her eye and hair color were wrong it was still his 'Livia. He stood there trying to figure out what she was conveying behind those artificially blue eyes outlined in black.

"I'll use Brandon's earpiece to let you know when Jones shows up and where he is. If and when you go upstairs, we'll be on both sides of the adjoining doors. 'Livia. Be careful."

As she opened her mouth to reply, Peter placed his hands delicately on the sides of her face, studying her. She knew underneath the brown contacts his own irises were turning the darkest blue.

All of a sudden he leaned in and gave her a delicate but firm kiss. His warm lips on hers made her knees buckle a little. She felt the loss of him as he pulled away afterwards to again look her in the eyes.

"I've got your back, Sweetheart."

Olivia just nodded her head as Peter turned and went out the door.

She noticed the nightclub was packed half-way into her first number. In general, the men seemed to appreciate her costume, calling out to her and waving money in the air. As she belted out the last words in English to the theme song of 'Caberet,' she heard Peter in his headset.

"Jones's here, in the center working his way up toward you. He's probably going to take that empty chair at the table dead center."

Olivia nodded and smiled as she finished the first song of her set. There was thunderous applause.

It took effort but she schooled her face into a radiant smile as she watched David Robert Jones get into the chair with what appeared to be some degree of difficulty. After he was seated they locked eyes with each other. Although her brain was screaming for her to run up to him as fast as possible and slap the stupid grin off his smug English face, she kept cool and bounced up and down as the guitar riffs sounded at the beginning of her second song.

You keep saying you've got something for me.

Something you call love, but confess.

You've been messin' where you shouldn't have been a messin'

And now someone else is gettin' all your best.

These boots are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do.

One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you.

Olivia found herself enjoying singing the song directly to Jones, and if his posture and facial expression were any indication, he seemed just as happy to have her sing it to him. Every once in awhile he coughed and then resumed his intense state of concentration upon her.

When the second song ended Jones applauded heartily along with the other patrons. Peter moved from his position against the front right wall toward the back, anticipating Jones's going upstairs in the minutes ahead.

She launched into the third and final song of her set which was entirely in French, and again Peter found himself wondering just when she had learned it. To his amazement after a few verses it broke into a full disco rhythm and she started swinging around the pole toward the side of the stage. Peter coughed into his hand. Things just couldn't get any weirder. He doubted they could get any hotter. After the coughing fit ended Peter found himself riveted to Olivia's performance on the stage. He wondered if she'd ever repeat that act if he begged her. _Maybe after_ a lot _of scotch? _Sadly, he doubted it. Peter watched as Jones pulled bills from a thin billfold and gestured to the nightclub manager. Michaud was quickly at his side and the two exchanged words. Peter saw Jones give several bills to Michaud as he thanked the man and walked off. Thirty seconds later Michaud's voice was in their ears. "Il m'a juste donne cinq cents pour une reunion intime. Attendez dix minutes, puis obtenez en vos positions en haut."

Olivia smiled brightly as she hung onto the last word of the song and took her pose. The music ended and every man in the club stood giving her a standing ovation. Peter clapped fervently as he walked backwards out of the main hall. Olivia took several bows, looking at Jones and nodding her head during the last one. Then she disappeared behind the giant curtain and ran to her dressing room. She opened the door, ran to her purse, and took the small revolver from her purse and stuck it inside the top of her right boot. Then she took a smilar revolver, slightly heavier, and stuck it inside the top of her left boot. Taking some deep breaths, she clung to the back of the director's chair, and wiped the sweat from her brow. It was now or never. _We're a good team. You know we can get this job done. _Peter's words were strong in her head. His sudden voice in her ear startled her.

"Cinq minutes, Rouge."

**Il m'a juste donne cinq cents pour une reunion intime. He just gave me $500. for a private party.**

**Attendez dix minutes, puis obtenez en vos positions en haut. Wait 10 minutes, then get into your positions upstairs.**

**Cinq minutes, Rouge. Five minutes, Red.**


	9. Chapter 9

**We're almost there. Again my thanks to those who've communicated with me via reviews/alerting/favoriting. That's why I keep writing the P/O. :)**

**The song lyrics are from "Here Tomorrow, Gone Today," a most excellent song by Lifehouse(who I'm going to see in concert in 4 weeks!)**

**This is a pretty interesting chapter. Please review if you liked it. I own nothing. No accent aigu is where it's supposed to be over the French e's. Sorry about that.**

**The rating may have to change in the next chapter. I'd rather keep it a 'T' but I'll have to see how it goes. English translations of the French are at the end.**

**Can anyone name the Season I epsiode from which I quoted David Robert Jones? I'll give ya a cyber cookie...**

**David Robert Jones fills his senses with Olivia as she struggles to complete her mission.**

Rouge-Chapter 9

Olivia Dunham took a deep breath and focused herself, her hands steepled in front of her lips, giving her instant deja vu back to when Peter had gotten infected with that ancient virus. She got through those stressful moments and therefore could readily get through the ones that were coming shortly. She opened the upholstered door to the small room with subdued lighting that smelled of dust, to find David Robert Jones waiting for her, sitting in the room's only chair. His hands were folded neatly in his lap. Even in the lower lighting she recognized his features and knew it was indeed him. The pock-marked face, the immaculate clothes, including a tie. _A well-dressed monster, _she thought to herself.

He smiled when she walked in. The same noticeable gap visible between his two upper front teeth.

Olivia closed the door behind her and stepped closer, eager to get the meeting over with.

"Bonsoir, Rouge. Merci de me voir. Vous parlez anglais, oui?" Jones had to raise his volume so that he could be heard over the background music.

"But of course," she replied in a heavy accent. Olivia began to dance and sway, the irony of the song's words not lost on her.

A walking disaster soakin' space

Just a matter of time before you show your second face

A maniacal master of getting your way

Always here tomorrow and gone today.

You're all talk and nothing to say

We don't want, don't want what you're giving away.

"It's just you and me and we haven't much time," Jones told her sharply. "Come here, _Rouge,_" he called to her, emphasizing her name.

Olivia moved in closer swaying her hips. She experienced another rush of deja vu. When had she heard him speak those words before?

Jones extended his arms and put a hand on each of her hips as she backed into him. "So beautiful, " he said as he ran his hands up and down her curves. Olivia had to work to keep the bile down below her throat.

In the room to the right Agent Michaud kept his eyes on the American instead of the closed circuit TV. The moment Agent Dunham moved closer to Jones, Michaud saw the anger flit across Peter Bishop's face. Again he questioned their superior's judgement in sending two people so obviously involved with each other to work an important mission together. It was sloppy, and something Interpol would never allow. With his arms crossed over his chest, the American was almost seething and Jones had barely even touched the woman.

'Turn around, please," Jones commanded her. Olivia did as she was told and turned to face him, his hands still on her waist. "Look at me."

Olivia leaned down placing her hands on the arm rests looking Jones in the face. For a moment they locked eyes and she was frightened by what she saw there. A mix of arrogance, delight, and lust.

"Kiss me," Jones commanded her. Olivia leaned in and put her lips on his trying not to be repulsed.

She reminded herself she needed to do this. Any information they could glean would help. Jones forced his tongue into her mouth and for several long moments he tasted her. Olivia pulled back and smiled at him.

"What can I do for you, Mr..."

"It's Jones. David Robert Jones. And you'll never forget me. And you _know_ I'll never forget these moments with you. "Dance for me, my girl." Olivia straightened cooperatively and began again to dance, shaking for him as he reapplied his hands to her body.

At his last phrase Peter moved closer to the door. Even though Jones hadn't emphasized the words 'my girl' Peter thought maybe her cover had been blown. He wrapped his hand around the door knob.

"Non, laissez-le le faire," Michaud commanded Peter. "Le plus souvent quand intelligent obtient allume, ils parlent." Peter relaxed his hand but did not remove it from the knob.

Jones let his hands roam running his fingers down the cool, smooth material of her boots. Olivia was worried he would grab one of her guns but he seemed not to notice them. He knew his time was running out. Jones moved his hands up her buttocks lingering on the lacy material for a beat and then stopped at her waist holding her there. "I have something for you, my girl."

Peter Bishop's heart rate shot up and he wasn't sure how much longer he could contain himself.

He'd known for a long time Jones was a disgustingly sick Englishman, but watching him feel up Olivia was just too much for him to handle. He reached for the Glock in the right pocket of his duster and laid his hand on it.

"Come here." Jones motioned for her to lean down. Olivia complied and put her ear to his mouth.

"In my pants you'll find something you need," he whispered loudly to her. Olivia bristled at his words but played along. She had a sense there was more meaning to his words than what she'd heard. Her hands moved to the button on his suit pants. "That's a good girl," Jones purred in her ear, "Your efforts will be rewarded. I promise."

The two men in the room to the right struggled to hear. "What's he saying to her!" Peter said emphatically in English. "What's going on?"

"Je ne le sais pas!" Michaud yelled. He spoke rapidly into his microphone. "Marshall. Declinez cette musique tout de suite! Nous ne pouvons pas entendre ce qu'ils disent!"

Surprising even herself, Olivia unbuttoned his pants and gingerly slid her hand inside. Jones was making noises she hoped she'd never hear again in her life.

"Just a little farther down," Jones whimpered. Olivia complied, biting her lip as she moved her hand lower.

In the room to the right Peter Bishop was having trouble breathing. The sides of his vision were turning red.

Suddenly the music dramatically decreased in volume as Jones knew it would. He didn't care, he was almost there. "Ohh. My girl...On the left you'll find a tiny pocket sewed in. Reach in there, and remove the USB. _Agent. Olivia. Dunham._

The next moments seemed like they happened in slow motion. "She's been made!" Peter screamed into his microphone. He took a step back from the door and kicked it down. When he cleared the doorframe he looked up to find Olivia holding a USB in one hand, her gun trained on David Robert Jones's head with the other, his pants still undone. Peter pulled his Glock out and clicked off the safety, pointing it at the back of Jones's neck. "We've got you, you sick bastard. If Interpol didn't need you I'd kill you now!" Peter yelled, his gun hand shaking with rage, his breathing ragged.

Two other clicks sounded as the safetys were removed from the guns of Agents Michaud and Marshall. "Well, Monsieur Jones. You need to come with us, " Agent Michaud told him. He looked at Peter. "We'll take it from here, Mr. Bishop."

"Yes, yes younger Bishop. You need to go tend to your lovely woman, " Jones said with a smirk as Peter reluctantly put away his gun. Jones turned to look at Peter who was red with rage and breathing erratically. He studied him. "If I'm not mistaken, that look on your face says I've gotten more from her than you have. A pity that."

Peter snarled at him as Olivia watched from several feet away. "Go to hell, Jones. The next time we meet, you're dead," Peter told him loudly.

Olivia was more frightened by the scene before her than she had been in a long time. Her voice wavered as she spoke. "Peter. We need to get this USB to Interpol."

Peter looked at Olivia. She couldn't tell what was going on behind his eyes. She could only imagine. After a few moments of silence in which his breathing improved, he shook his head once and followed her out of the room. Jones called after her.

"A pleasure as always, Agent Dunham. I shall think of our moments most fondly in my prison cell, _my girl_," he yelled to her retreating form.

**Bonsoir, Rouge. Merci de me voir. Vous parlez anglais, oui?" Good evening, Red. Thank you for seeing me. You speak English, yes?**

**"Non, laissez-le le faire. Le plus souvent quand intelligent obtient allume, ils parlent." No. Let him do it. Often when the intelligent get turned on, they talk.**

**"Je ne le sais pas!" "Declinez cette musique tout de suite!" "Nous ne pouvons pas entendre ce qu'ils diesnt!" I don't know! Turn down the music right away! We can't hear what they are saying!**


	10. Chapter 10

**I can't believe this is the last chapter! It's been more fun writing this than I thought it would be. I'm happy many of you enjoyed it. :)**

**Remember I still own nothing. Mistakes are mine. I worked hard to keep this a 'T,' sorry if that disappoints anyone.**

**I love undercover P/O fics and encourage you reading to try writing one. Would be fun to see one in with a fall, maybe even Halloween theme *hint***

**Olivia can't sleep and goes to Peter. Jones' message is revealed.**

Rouge-Chapter 10

Olivia stared toward the front of the small military plane, her mind was slowly being lulled into nothingness by the drone of the engines. She sighed as she looked out of the corner of her eye at the empty seats next to her. A half hour prior, Peter Bishop, in his own clothes but still with his spiked dirty blonde hair sans the skull earrings, had unbuckled his seat belt and risen.

"I'm going to try to stretch out in the back and sleep. You should try to too, up here."

It was the most he had spoken to her since Jones had been cuffed and dragged out of the night giving her a chance to respond he moved out of their row to the last of the plane. It was small enough that she could hear him re-buckle his seat belt in his new position.

Olivia sighed again, wishing sleep to overtake her, but her thoughts were spinning. She knew why he had moved. It wasn't to sleep. He was angry. Angry at her for going through with it, but especially angry at Jones. She figured he was pretty angry at Broyles as well and hoped when they got back to the Federal Building in Boston that Peter waited until she was gone to have that _discussion _with her boss.

She felt moisture on her face, and while it was unwelcome it didn't surprise her. Stress and jet lag, and the let down that came at the end of any ops let alone an undercover one were enough to do that to an agent. _Who are you kidding?_ Her own voice in her head made her choke on the sobs. Olivia worked to keep them back. She was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to hear her crying with the noisy engines, but she wouldn't take the chance. _The two of you just need sleep. You'll sort it all out after that. _That part of her brain that always reigned her back in on the job kicked in. Olivia took a deep breath and thought back on the debriefing in Paris's Interpol headquarters.

It had gone well enough. Predictably. Jones was in custody, hopefully for more than a few hours this time. Interpol's top scientists had the USB and were working around the clock to try to break some secret code with which Jones had encrypted the information it contained. They were hopeful there was information on it about the bioweapons he was set to sell to Landon. Eyewitnesses in Pandora's Box stated they had seen a dark-haired man acknowldege Jones before he headed upstairs, but there had been no more information than that. The contact had vanished. Peter and Olivia had both given their accounts. Olivia had seen Peter's eyes widen slightly when she recounted Jones' whispered words which had led her to open his trousers and follow his command to reach for the USB stick. Olivia stared at Peter as Agent Michaud described Peter's initial reaction to Jones placing his hands on her. She kept staring at him as Michaud continued, recollecting the redness in Peter's face and his frantic shouts in English when they couldn't hear Jones. Looking back she was thankful Peter had not kicked the door down before she had the USB in her hand.

The dull throb of a headache started on the side of her head. Olivia shut her eyes and tried to relax.

* * *

Olivia Dunham was still tired as she opened the door to the lab trying to balance her coffee in one hand. It had been two days since they'd returned. Except for the meeting in Broyles' office the previous afternoon she hadn't seen Peter. Olivia had cried a couple of times since they had returned to US soil, mainly because she just plain missed him. She missed being with him, she missed talking with him, and she especially missed sharing a bed with him. That thought led to the memory of him carrying her to their Parisian bed, and how happy they'd been before Michaud had interrupted them for a meeting.

The elder Bishop's words brought her back to the present.

"Agent Dunham! How lovely to have you back! Astrid told me you and Peter had been successful. Congratulations on recapturing that dreadful man Jones!"

Olivia just looked at Walter Bishop. She didn't feel very successful. And where was Peter?

As if in reply to her query, the lab door opened and closed. Peter Bishop stopped mid-step, carrying a styrofoam container with four cups and a brown bag. He looked at Olivia and gave her a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Morning, 'Livia. You already got your coffee? Well, you can have this one later then. Morning, Astrid, Walter." Without waiting for a reply he walked down the stairs to his area of the workbench.

Olivia lowered her head and walked to her office. She gave an involuntary sigh that she thought no one heard. Once her door closed fairly loudly Walter moved closer to Astrid putting his mouth near her ear.

"What's gone wrong, Asterix? I thought they would have had sexual relations in Paris and come home all happy, finally being a couple..." Walter stated sadly.

"I don't know, Walter," Astrid said puzzled. "That case is confidential, you know, so I don't know any of the details. But you're right. Something most definitely did not go well. I'll see if I can talk with Olivia. You try talking with Peter. OK?"

'It's a deal!" Waltered answered excitedly. Then they both turned in different directions to get back to their work.

* * *

The clock on his nightstand read 11:30PM. Peter was no where near sleep despite having listened to an entire CD already. He thought he heard a sound downstairs, but dismissed it as either a squirrel or acorns hitting the house. The oak trees all over Cambridge were loaded with acorns and it wasn't uncommon to hear one at night. He closed his eyes again and tried to settle down. He picked up his head phones and just as he was about to put them back on his head he heard a soft rap on his bedroom door. Was he imagining things? He had fantasized of her knocking on his door and coming to apologize for days now. _Apologize for what, genius? She did her job and did it well. What does she have to apologize to you for? For you acting like such an ass? For Jones touching her? Kissing her? She's not responsible for his actions. No one needs a 190 IQ to figure that out._ The part of his brain was talking that always told him off when he acted stupidly. The interesting thing was he was actually giving it his undivided attention these days. His mind was getting ready to launch into a whole new lecture when he heard the knock again.

Peter got out of bed, dressed only in his plain navy boxers, and went to the door. With curiosity winning over trepidation, he opened it to see Olivia standing there in a navy blue trenchcoat, and that red wig on her head. She was in full make-up, but not wearing the blue contacts.

'They were making my eyes burn, sorry," she told him in greeting, as if knowing what he was thinking.

Peter stood there for a moment, stunned. Not only that she had picked her way through the front door lock to get to his bedroom door, but she had on parts of her undercover costume. In his room.

"Come in," he said with a voice that didn't sound like his. She noticed that he was swallowing madly as she walked into his room and he closed the door behind her, his hand lingering on the knob. A second later he locked the door.

Peter saw the shiny patent leather material of the thigh-high boots she had worn in Paris where her coat ended, as she walked past him. He didn't know what to do or say as he stepped closer, his eyes locked on hers. Then it hit him like a thunderbolt.

"I'm sorry, 'Livia. I overreacted. I-everything...got to me, I guess." He was quiet for a beat but she knew he wasn't finished. "I've missed you," came out as a loud whisper. He swallowed again.

"I've missed you too, Peter," she said, the depth of her feelings almost palpable. He wanted to touch her, to fold her into his arms and chase away the sadness he saw on her face and in her words. Sadness he had put there. The thought made him swallow harder. But again curiosity won out.

"Why are you wearing this?" Peter asked her gently, gesturing toward her with his hands. It suddenly dawned on him what was under her coat. Never had a realization both excited and repulsed him at the same time.

"It took me a little time to figure out why you were so mad, Peter. But I did. You wanted me like this. Just for you." She took a step closer to him and he blinked. Olivia untangled the belt of her coat and quickly undid the buttons, taking it off and throwing it to the floor. She stood there before him in the full set of black lingerie, with the garteer belts and the little clips, and the gloves. Peter was speechless. If it was possible, she looked even better than she did that night in the club.

Olivia took one of his hands and laced their fingers. "Just for you." Her gentle, unselfish words echoed in his head. Part of him wanted to take her that moment and throw her on the bed and have his way with her until she couldn't walk straight. But he knew what he really wanted. The silence in the room was thick as he guided her into his bathroom.

She didn't understand why he was walking her into his bathroom until he reached in her hair for the pins attatching the wig to her own flaxen locks. Peter threw them one at a time onto the bathroom floor, and placed the wig clumsily on top of the toilet seat. Then he turned on the hot water, grabbed a washcloth and washed the makeup off her face as best he could. Still wordlessly he reached for a towel and dried her face, admiring his work.

Peter turned her so she could see herself in his bathroom mirror. "This is the woman I want, 'Livia."

He couldn't control his hands and gently put them on her waist and moved tham around as he watched them in the mirror. "You are so beautiful."

She watched their reflections as he touched her. It had been too long. She had missed his touch.

Without warning Peter spun her around to face him. "'Livia," was all he said. It was urgent. His message unmistakable. He leaned down toward her and their lips touched. The kiss was light and sweet but like a lit match it quickly changed as his tongue lapped at the gap between her lips, begging admittance, which she quickly enabled.

They stood like that lost in each other. Their tongues and mouths exploring each other, the neediness extreme. Peter scooped her up in his arms, his mouth never leaving hers, as he carried her out of the bathroom to his bed. He plopped her down which broke the kiss. Olivia watched as he pulled her boots off as quickly as he could throwing them hastily to the floor. His hot hands moved up her legs and unclipped the delicate garders as she gave a happy sigh, which further excited him.

His hands continued their journey north as he latched back onto her lips sucking hungrily. His busy hands found the front clasp of her lacy bra and he undid it in a moment, freeing it from her arms and throwing it hapahazzardly to the floor. He returned to her breasts cupping them gently, eliciting a moan form both of them. He twirled both her nipples into stiff peaks and then started south, as Olivia got restless. Moving steadily, Peter grabbed the thin lace panties on both sides and dragged them down quickly, admiring her beauty as he did. He pulled them past her feet and trew them to the floor.

Peter crawled up to her face and held it in his hands as he lay on her, trying to balance most of his weight on his arms. "'Livia," was all he said roughly as they kissed again. She encircled him with her arms, pulling him as close as she could as his hands again moved south. They became one and stayed that way for as long as they could, reaching the edge at the same time together. Peacefully, they lay entwined until Peter had to move. He lay next to her and pulled Olivia as close to him as physically possible, his head resting on top of hers.

He pulled back several inches to look at her. She was smiling at him, relief glowing on her face.

"I love you," he told her honestly, not caring if she responded or not. He had been carrying it around on his heart for a long time and it was a relief to get it out. Now he wanted to tell the world.

Olivia reached out and touched the stubble on his cheek. "I love you, too."

Peter hadn't expected her reply and exhaled loudly. He leaned in and gave her a gentle kiss. When it ended they both pulled back and stared at each other. It was then that Olivia noticed he had dyed his hair back to its origianl color although it was still shorter and spikier than normal. She eyed the small holes in his ears and chuckled.

He raised his eyebrows in question. "Maybe I should buy you a single earring," she teased him.

"I don't know..." he answered, pretending to consider it. They both laughed, relived to know that things were going to be all right.

* * *

The chief Interpol scientist scratched his head and spoke in polished English. "Not what we were expecting. I bet the Americans weren't either. I'll enlighten Specail Agent Phillip Broyles," he said as he dialed Broyles' private number.

The other scientists re-read the deciphered note in fascination:

Dear Interpol, FBI of the US of A, and Special Agent Phillip Broyles,

If you are reading this message it means two things:

1. You have successfully deciphered it with your fancy intergovernmental software programs and 2. Agent Olivia Dunham has successfully completed her task.

Agent Broyles, you should really be quite proud of Olivia Dunham. She's a special girl, of whom I am quite fond.

As a thank you to her for sharing her generous time and talents with me I have given you one of the two formulas I was going to sell to Monsieur Landon(Not his real name.)

The second formula is the nastier of the two. Being in a generous mood, again thanks to Miss Dunham, I have given you all the ingredients except the most important one. If you want that ingredient you will have Miss Dunham come to me at a later time, on my terms. Is that simple request worthy of hundreds or perhaps thousands of US lives? Let me know. You know where to find me when you decide...if I'm still there.

Fondly,

David R. Jones

**The End**

**Please review!**


End file.
